What would you do to free the love of your life from prison?Will the couple get the chance to solve the Shrine fire mystery before the law postpones their nuptials forever?
The alvae sergeant guided me to one of two green cushioned chairs, hands still tied. I sat.
Smergasil placed a cheek on the corner of his desk while the sergeant came around to sit behind it. Parchment was brought forth, and the sergeant found a quill.
The green-skinned lieutenant spoke in Realm’s Tongue. “What is your name?”
“Ingefær vod Renku.”
“Place of residence?”
That proved difficult. I hadn’t lived in one place for almost a year. Rory and I, once we were married, planned to call Slangeh Buktah home—well, his parents’ farm some three days’ ride north of the human city.
“Place of residence? Why is this difficult for you?”
“Rory and I intend to live near Slangeh Buktah. But right now, we are without a home. My last fixed residences were Rohd Mina and Hjulstadt. I guarded a supply wagon that traveled between those two cities.”
“How long ago?”
“A year.”
Smergasil narrowed his eyes. “That is quite a long time to be without a home.”
I shrugged. “We traveled. All over the Realm.”
And had we. From Hjulstadt to Asken de Gulles to Himmel Drakken to Soolv Spyda, then north across the Dreki Mountains in the heart of winter to Kral Fal Is, Kobber Unter Smuss, and Kral Bar Aggen. I smiled, “I’ve been to Is Vann.”
Smergasil pshaw’d. “Lying exacerbates your circumstances.”
How much worse could it get? I lifted my chin high. “I don’t lie. You’ll see. Rory will tell you the same thing.”
That took a little green off his face.
Smergasil pointed. “Search her.”
Uh-oh. Two males pawing me. I didn’t like the sound of that. Good thing Rory wasn’t here.
The lieutenant’s lips curled into a thin, cruel smile. “Resisting an officer in the line of duty is punishable by up to ten years in the swamps. If the officer is wounded in the process, the death penalty may be invoked.”
My breathing quickened. Without my hands, I couldn’t cast a spell.
The sergeant worked quickly, yet efficiently. The knife in my boot was the first item. Then he unbuttoned my green tunic and pulled free my mage belt, setting it on the lieutenant’s desk. I must say, he had patted me down with care and consideration.
Smergasil took the mage belt and opened the pouches. When he came to the sawdust—an ingredient in summoning a fireball—he looked up at me and smiled.
Yeah. I was in trouble.
From underneath my green frock, the sergeant pulled out a coin sack inside a hidden pocket and two folded up parchments I had placed between my frock and chemise. I didn’t think he had felt the paper. Maybe he’d heard it crinkling.
The sergeant rifled through the coin bag. He whistled and said something in Alvaesh.
I had a combined purse of a thousand silver coins, nine hundred of which came in the form of forty-five gold coins, which were rare. Somehow, my wealth made my situation worse.
The lieutenant stared down his nose at me. “That is quite a lot of money for someone who doesn’t have a place to call home.”
“We did very well at Is Vann. And had a bit of luck inside a necromancer’s tomb.” I smiled at his rolled eyes.
He snapped his fingers, and the sergeant handed over the folded-up parchments. Smergasil read the first and his thin lips spread into a wide grin. “A letter of credit for four thousand more silver? Which jarls did you rob?”
“Earned every single coin,” I said, jutting my jaw forward. “Rory’s the best swordsman in the Realm.”
“Hmph.” Smergasil threw the letter of credit toward the sergeant, whose green eyes were as big as marbles. The lieutenant read the second letter, which I knew to be a decree from Foremost Aerica of the Tyrrell Order granting Rory and me the right to pursue criminals wherever the Warriors for Justice had an agreement in place.
Of all the luck. Vanaby wasn’t one of them.
“Rory and I are bounty hunters.”
“Good cover for thieves, don’t you think?” Smergasil threw the parchment at the sergeant and stood. “A forgery. Why did you burn the Shrine?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t.”
“Yet you’re a thaumaturge.”
“Technically, I’m a battle wizard, not a thaumaturge. I can wield both air and fire from the elemental planes by the same name, as well as summon power from the Aether plane, which comes in handy for utilitarian incantations like find or dispel magic.”
He covered a yawn. “No matter. You burned the Shrine. Why?”
“I didn’t.”
The inane conversation devolved from there. I met his unfounded accusations with strident denials. We went round and round for a dozen minutes.
“Lieutenant,” I said. “I can do this all day. The decree before you clearly informs anyone with reading comprehension that Rory and I are on the side of good…the same side as you.”
“Cover.”
Obstinance in the face of facts could only be maintained by a dimwit. I shifted tactics and mimicked his earlier one. I yawned. He peppered questions at me, demanding I confess. I slouched in my chair and pretended to nod off.
I risked a beating for my insolence, but I wasn’t going to argue banalities and innuendo. Not with someone who had already made up their mind.
“Take her to holding,” Smergasil said.
I've been a reader of fantasy and science fiction since I was ten. Lord of the Rings is still my favorite. I now read Butcher (Dresden) and Salvatore (Drizzt), as well at Sanderson and others. The Mid Dreki Realm got its start with a comment with my then fifteen year old son. That kernel grew into a book, which split into two, and is now a five book series. I retired at 57 and began the process of becoming a writer. I've attended a half dozen conferences, read numerous books on the art of writing, joined critique groups, and immersed myself in the craft. I'm a member of Apex, a group founded by David Farland (Runelord).I live in the foothills between Colorado Springs and Denver with my wife. Deer, turkeys, bear, coyotes, and my three children and 2 grandchildren occasionally drop by.
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